Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. A Memorable Day By Cheryl Moore We had arrived in Mashad, a city in north east Iran, the night before. It is the site of the holy Shrine of Imam Ali Reza, the eighth Imam, a site where the followers of the Shi’a branch of the Islamic faith make pilgrimage. The mosque was a beautiful, gleaming white structure with four minarets, one at each corner. Women must cover up with a chador to enter. As I didn’t own one, I had to borrow one, but it only came to my midi-calf, not my ankles, as it did on Iranian women. My pale skin and blue eyes gave me away as a foreigner. I couldn’t just blend in. Before entering we had to take off our shoes and leave them outside on the steps. I hoped mine…
Category: Sparks
Memorable writing that sparks imagination.
The Clicking of Heat
Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. The Clicking of Heat By Robin Mills Lying in bed in the early hours of the day, I hear a clicking sound. I know what it is, but what it does is to throw me back to a previous home where the thermostat nudged the heat to come on, making a click clicking as it did. That for years served as my alarm clock. That nudging started the huge monster of a gravity fed heating system that lived in the basement of my 1926 craftsman bungalow. A furnace so large that two grown adults on either side, outstretched arms trying to hug it like a big tree, could not join hands around its massive body. Maybe braise fingertips at best. I had never encountered gravity fed air before. No moving parts. Just rising heat tumbling into…
Bittersweet
Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. Bittersweet by Lynn Levy Better If The Time Elapses Rapidly Stopping Weary Ennui’s Endless Tyranny Lynn Levy lives in Northern California with her husband, an overly familiar wild scrub jay called “Bubba,” and an enormous wisteria. She and the wisteria are in negotiations regarding ownership of the patio trellis.
My Pen Tonight
Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. My Pen Tonight By Cheryl Moore My pen seems to have run out of words. Minutes tick by—tick, tick, tick But no matter how hard I try All starts dry up and say good-bye. When Cheryl Moore came to California in the early 1960’s, she realized she’d found her home. Moving to Petaluma in the 70’s, she was as close to paradise as she’d ever get. Travel has taken her to Europe and the Middle East. She has written on these memories as well as on the flora and fauna of the local river and her own garden. Chery’s writing has been published in “The Write Spot to Jumpstart Your Writing: Discoveries,” available from your local bookseller. Print and ebook available through Amazon. Also available through the Sonoma County Library system.
Jumpstart in Meter
Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. Jumpstart in Meter By Ken Delpit I wonder if it makes good sense, to do Jumpstart in meter.I mean, what’s the point, masking oneself, like a blindfolded trick-or-treater?It all depends, I suppose, on the prompts that we are given.It could turn out to be mere folly, or crazier still, madness-driven. Marlene always says, “Just write,” so just write is what we will do.We will contemplate the prompts, one at a time, and stir them into our stew.Time will tell us, as our words spill out, no need to pre-distress.We’ll know soon enough if we’ve got a yummy meal, or just some metered mess. Prompt one says: What bothers me…, I don’t care…, I’m tired of dot-dot-dot.So, right away, we must gaze inward, and put ourselves on the spot-spot-spot.One thing that can be tiresome is overuse of…
Identify with Trees
Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. Identify with Trees By Cheryl Moore Looking at the Chinese Zodiac, I don’t find an animal I can identify with. Why are there only animals? Why not plants? If there is a living thing I mostly identify with, it is a deciduous tree. Trees are tall, stand upright. They reach up to the heavens; I am tall, upright (at least most of the time). I reach up to the sky doing my morning exercises. Trees are more silent than most animals—no barking dogs or yowling cats, trees only whisper when they sway in the wind. Their annual cycle ranges from quickly budding in spring, like childhood, then full glory in summer like the energy of early adulthood, until their final flash of color, ageing until their bare branches in winter resemble skeletal bones. A bit rough…
From The Roots
Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. From The Roots By Su Shafer I need to let go of the uncertainty That I am anything else but a dragon. Just a little dragon A little wood dragon Hatched from a little crystal egg As green as the nest of moss it was laid in Carefully built in the cool leaf mould Gathered in the crook of Granny Maple’s Gnarled old roots. There is a fire in my heart But wood dragons are careful Creatures of the trees Where fire is seldom welcome. Shy as a brown creeper, Hiding in plain sight, Few people see me And the ones who do Can hardly believe it. Su Shafer is a creative crafter, fabricating bits of writing in poetry and short stories, and other bits into characters that appear in paintings or sit on various bookshelves…
MissUnderstood Me
Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. MissUnderstood Me By Julie Sherman Not all dragons are fire-breathing, terrifying, scaley, menacing creatures. Folklore and fairytales have given us a bad name and have ruined our reputations. Some of us are quite nice. Some are even meek. Some are mothers who just want to care for their young draglings in the dark, clammy caves of our homes. Others are literally party animals and want to romp and roll in the mountains, scratching our backs on the rough terrain. And most of us are kind. Many of us go around helping other dragons fend off bully dragons who flap their immense, scabrous wings close to other dragons’ faces and blow smoke through their enormous nostrils and balls of fire through their mammoth mouths. We are descendants of pterodactyl and t-rex, so we get our wide…
Inflatable Snowman, A True Story
Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. Inflatable Snowman, A True Story By Su Shafer Across the street, the inflatable snowman is down laying on its side in the dirt by the porch its head still turning back and forth back and forth, back and forth looking from the cold black ground to the heavy belly of the leaden sky. It’s still smiling, but the smile seems tentatively directed right at me silently saying “Hello?! No arms, no legs — I’m not getting myself back on that porch!” and wondering why I’m just standing here Staring at it laying there half deflated and helpless It starts to snow, the only sound is the little motor in its head whirring, worrying how bad is it going to get down here on the ground? Still smiling but desperate now. Why does she just stand there?…
Dream Weaver
Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. Dream Weaver By Sarah Horton I dreamed the world was a place of love and harmony . . . Dream Lover . . . What dreams may come You are my dream lover – thinking of my love, my sweet heart . . . (song pops into my head) Dream The snow is falling . . . hard. The air is thick with it . . . in my nose. I wander on the path while the winds blow. I slip, and almost lose my footing. The pathway is blurred from the flakes and wind blowing. Soon, there is no side view or peripheral vision. Instantly, only one foot in front of the other and I think— if I keep moving it will clear. Clearly, I now step ahead — one foot, then another, and another. …